


take my hand (i'll show you the wild side)

by folignos



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 10:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5824840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time Cam got a hat trick, Hartsy got on his knees in front of him, in front of the whole locker room, and unlaced his skates, peeled him out of his socks and shinpads, tugged gently at the laces at the waist of his shorts until he was sitting there in his jersey and his underarmour, Hartsy still in full gear. His curls were matted with sweat, and he’d looked up at Cam through his eyelashes, smirking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take my hand (i'll show you the wild side)

**Author's Note:**

> cam atkinson got a hat trick of goals last night, so i wrote him a hat trick of orgasms (almost)
> 
> i want to be sorry but i'm really really not.

The last time Cam got a hat trick, Hartsy got on his knees in front of him, in front of the whole locker room, and unlaced his skates, peeled him out of his socks and shinpads, tugged gently at the laces at the waist of his shorts until he was sitting there in his jersey and his underarmour, Hartsy still in full gear. His curls were matted with sweat, and he’d looked up at Cam through his eyelashes, smirking.

Cam remembers swallowing hard just before Hartsy leant in and rubbed his cheek on Cam’s inner thigh before coaxing him out of the leggings, out of his jock. He looks exactly the same as he always does when Cam goes home with him, but it feels different, somehow.

‘I’ll have to start scoring more hat tricks,’ Cam had said, nonsensically, as if he doesn’t get this Hartsy enough at home, and Hartsy had laughed, close enough to Cam’s dick that he’d felt the vibrations before Hartsy took him in, easy as breathing.

That’s what Cam’s thinking about, as he takes his skates off in the locker room after the Habs game. The room is loud around him, everyone shouting or singing or chirping. Next to him, Hartsy nudges him, casual, and he looks up to see Brandon disappearing into the showers. Just before he turns the corner, he looks over his shoulder at Cam and winks. Cam goes hot all over.

‘Hat tricks mean rewards, remember, Cammie?’ Hartsy murmurs, and squeezes his knee before straightening up and ripping at the velcro on his elbow pad.

Cam’s mouth has gone dry. He wills his hands not to shake as he peels off his pads, his underarmour, strips down to his skin and grabs a towel, follows Brandon into the showers.

Brandon’s got really broad shoulders. Cam is short, but not exactly slender, and Brandon dwarfs him both ways, easily. He’s got his back to Cam, head tipped down under the spray as he washes shampoo out. He’s the only one in there, and Cam hangs back a little, unsure, suddenly. He watches Brandon tip his head back, letting the spray wash over his face.

He turns around when he’s done, spots Cam, and just. Lights up. That’s the only way  Cam can describe the look on his face, like he’s never been happier to see Cam in his life.

‘Nice goals,’ Cam says, uncertain.

‘Yours were better,’ Brandon says, taking a step forward. Foam slides down his torso as he leaves the spray. When Cam looks down, Brandon’s half hard.

Cam gives him a grin, all faux-cocky, and drops his towel. ‘Am I getting a reward for them?’

‘I’ve been told,’ Brandon says, slowly. ‘That this team has a-- unique way of rewarding players for good games.’

‘You don’t do this in Chicago?’ Cam asks, thrown suddenly. He thought this was just-- how things happened.

Brandon shakes his head. ‘Not so blatant, anyway. It was mostly for the goalies, or-- for the playoffs. And it didn’t happen in the locker room.’

‘We’re not in the locker room right now,’ Cam points out.

Brandon’s right in front of him, now. ‘No,’ he says, and drops to his knees. ‘I suppose we aren’t.’

Cam reaches out and runs his fingertips across Brandon’s cheekbone. ‘You don’t have to,’ he says. ‘There’s plenty of guys out there who would do it instead.’ He doesn’t mean to sound arrogant, but Brandon laughs at him anyway, turning into his touch.

‘Somehow, getting to suck your dick is not something I’ll have to suffer through,’ Brandon says. ‘You have a really pretty cock, Cammie.’

Cam knows, is the thing. He doesn’t hook up all that often, but he has a couple regular hookups whenever he’s in Boston or New York, and they’re always very appreciative of his, uh, assets.

‘You have such good hands,’ Brandon says. ‘I’ve wanted to do this since that second goal, your fucking _filthy_ backhand, Cam.’

Cam laughs, breathless, as Brandon leans in, noses at the dark blond hairs of his groin. ‘You can’t talk about backhands, Saader. Yours is unreal.’

Brandon laughs, and hums. ‘True. Just means I know good hands when I see them, babe.’

Cam’s hand is still on Brandon’s cheek. He flattens it out and slides it through his slicked back hair to cradle the base of his skull, brings the other one up to join it.

‘These hands?’ he asks, digging his fingers into Brandon’s scalp, watching his eyes go a little darker.

‘Those would be the ones,’ Brandon breathes, and takes the tip of Cam into his mouth.

Cam’s spent a lot of time watching Brandon’s mouth. Of course he has, it’s fucking _sinful_ , all wonky grins and pink lips, and now that it’s on him, all he can think about is how warm it is, has just enough time to enjoy the slick of his saliva before Brandon pulls off again, presses a kiss to the small scar on the underside of Cam’s dick.

‘I don’t do this to many guys who are cut,’ he says, casual, bringing a hand up to thumb at the slit easily.

‘Glad I could do this for you,’ Cam deadpans, but his voice is tight.

Brandon runs his tongue up the underside of his dick, almost thoughtful. ‘You’re a good teammate,’ he says, wicked smirk on his face, and swallows Cam back down before Cam can do anything but tighten his grip on Brandon’s hair.

Cam’s never had a blowjob quite like it. Brandon’s not the most polished dude in the world, but he’s careful. Thorough. Surprisingly gentle with it, Cam thinks, but relentless, like the swell of the ocean. He can feel his orgasm building, but slow, like Brandon could do it all day. Cam gets the feeling if they had that kind of time, Brandon _would_ do it all day. The spray is still running in the background, but underneath the spatter of water, Cam can just barely hear the soft, wet, happy sounds Brandon’s making, like there’s nothing he would rather be doing right now than sucking Cam off.

Suddenly, Cam’s close, feels seconds away from blowing his load, and he shoves Brandon off and locks his knees just in time to come on Brandon’s throat and chest.

‘I think I need another shower,’ Brandon says, and he sounds _wrecked_ , like he’s been screaming.

‘Me too,’ Cam says, catching his breath.

‘Good hustle out there,’ Brandon deadpans, climbing to his feet, graceful.

Cam barks out a laugh and, brave, smacks Brandon’s bare ass, making his eyes widen in shock.

‘Hurry up,’ Brandon says, and steps back under the spray, hooking a hand around Cam’s wrist and dragging him too. ‘Alex is waiting. He wants to congratulate you.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asks. ‘Wasn’t that-- that was it, right?’

Brandon just smiles, neutral, and works shampoo into Cam’s hair for him.

-

The locker room is suspiciously empty when Cam leaves the showers, Brandon’s fingers circling his wrist again, except for Wenny, sitting in Cam’s stall in his suit, legs spread, grinning almost as wide as Brandon did.

‘Hey Cam,’ he says, easy, spreads his legs a little wider. ‘You played real good today, you know that?’

‘I’ve been told,’ Cam says, lightly. Brandon pushes him towards Wenny, making him stumble a little, and he ends up in Wenny’s lap, knees on either side of his hips.

‘Hey,’ Wenny says again, and kisses him. Cam has the brief thought that he’s gonna get Wenny’s suit all damp, and then Wenny is biting at his lower lip, tugging it with his teeth, and Cam stops thinking about anything but the slide of mouths.

‘Brandon teach you that?’ he asks, when they pull apart. Brandon coughs, behind them, and Cam laughs. ‘I knew you guys were fucking,’ he says. ‘Joey owes me twenty bucks.’

Wenny laughs, looks over Cam’s shoulder, gets a little soft, a little fond.

‘Alex is a good kid,’ Brandon says. ‘Quick learner. Good hands.’

‘Just like hockey, huh?’ Cam says. He hasn’t played on a line with Wenny since the start of the season, but he can see that Brandon and Hartsy have been good influences on his game the way Hartsy was a good influence on Dano.

‘Just like hockey,’ Wenny says, and puts his hands on Cam’s hips, firm. He’s got big hands. Wide hands. Long fingers.

Cam shifts on Wenny’s lap. He can feel Wenny’s erection pressing into his perineum. ‘you gonna fuck me, Wenny?’ he asks, quiet.

Wenny shrugs. ‘That what you want?’ he asks.

Cam thinks about it. He hasn’t been fucked in a long time, too much effort for one night stands, usually, and he can never find the kind of guy who isn’t gonna try and boss him about. He kind of misses it. ‘Yeah, Wenny,’ he says, quiet. ‘Yeah, I want that.’

Wenny kisses him again. ‘Good,’ he says. ‘You deserve it, after that game.’

Wenny opens him up slowly. He keeps looking over Cam’s shoulder at Brandon, who’s sitting across the room, watching them. ‘You’re doing good,’ Cam says, when Wenny slips a second finger in. ‘Keep going.’

‘Impatient,’ Wenny huffs. ‘Just like Brandon.’

‘American,’ Cam and Brandon say, at the same time, and Cam laughs, turning it into a low moan when Wenny twists his wrist, brushes the rough pads of his fingers against something inside.

‘There we go,’ Wenny murmurs. ‘That good, Cam?’

Cam nods, dropping his forehead to Wenny’s shoulder. He hears the buzz of Wenny’s zipper, and the scrape of fabric on skin as he eases his dick out, and then it’s nudging into him carefully. Cam’s on his knees, has all the leverage, and he lowers himself down by inches. He can feel the muscles in Wenny’s thighs shaking, just a little, and when he’s finally seated in his lap, he wiggles, just enough to make all his muscles clench.

‘Should have known you were trouble,’ Brandon says. ‘The little ones always are.’

Cam rises up onto his knees again, reaching between his legs to hold Wenny’s cock steady. ‘Fuck you,’ he says. ‘I’m not that little.’ He feels like the breath gets punched out of him when he drops back down. Wenny’s head hits the back of his stall with a thunk.

It’s not gonna take him long to come like this, even after the blowjob, and he sets a pretty punishing rhythm, exactly how he normally likes it. It’s not long before Wenny is making the same, fucked out sounds Cam is, and Brandon stands up behind him, coming to press himself against Cam’s back and reach around to where his dick is hard again, wrapping a huge hand around it and jerking him off. Cam comes for a second time, pressed between them, all over Wenny’s shirt and Brandon’s hand. He mumbles an apology into Wenny’s shoulder as he slumps forward. He feels sore and oversensitive, but his thighs won’t let him push up and off Wenny’s dick, so he just sits there, overfull and vaguely uncomfortable until Brandon slides an arm around his middle and lifts him off Wenny’s lap like it’s nothing.

Cam dresses himself, mostly, can’t seem to get his tie to work, but Brandon bats his hands away and ties it himself in seconds.

‘There you go,’ he says. ‘Presentable. No one will guess.’

As they’re heading for the door, Cam can’t help but remember the last time. ‘Three goals, three orgasms,’ Fligs had told him, after he’d come down Hartsy’s throat. Cam doesn’t think he could come again right now if he had a gun pointed at him, but he still feels like there’s something he’s missing.

Hartsy hipchecks him as soon as he sets foot in the parking lot, grinning down at him. ‘Hey, Cammie,’ he says. ‘The boys look after you?’

Cam glances at Brandon and Wenny, already in their own little world, heading for Brandon’s car, his hand on Wenny’s back, carefully possessive.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘They were good to me.’

‘Good,’ Hartsy says. ‘You gonna come home with me?’

Cam tilts his head.

‘You’re an orgasm short,’ Hartsy says, smirking. ‘Last I remember, you scored three goals, not two.’

Cam kind of wants to ask how he knows he only got two orgasms, but. Instead he just follows Hartsy to his car, gets pushed up against the passenger door and kisses breathless, Hartsy groping underneath his thick wool coat to push his carefully tucked in shirt up, palm his belly roughly. Cam grins into the kiss, and pushes back against him like he always does.


End file.
